Stitches

“Come over,” I say, again.

He doesn’t respond that time.

He doesn’t respond for the rest of the night.

4

Griff

I’m entirely too drunk to drive home.

The bar is closing, so that’s bad.

I should call for a ride. Uber or some shit. I squint at my phone, then blink, stumbling over my own feet as I make my way outside. Fuck, I am drunk. I can’t see clearly.

I don’t have the app I need, so I open up the app store, but it seems like a lot of steps. I have to touch the tiny fucking buttons to type in the name, then I’ll have to wait for it to download. I’ll probably need to sign up for an account or some shit.

Too much work. Fuck it.

I swipe away from all that and touch the green contacts icon. I scroll down toward Seb’s name, but I stop at the sight of Moira’s.

I’m drunk enough to tap it.

My head feels so heavy. It lolls back as I wait for the rings to stop. Finally she answers, her tone raspy from sleep. “Hello?”

“Hey, friend,” I say, grinning.

“Griff.” She clears her throat, trying not to sound sleepy. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

“Of course. Where are you?” Now she sounds urgent, like she’s afraid I beat the shit out of whatever asshole put his dick in my wife and got myself arrested. Not like she can’t bring the bail money considering who she’s married to, but it would still distress her.

“Callahan’s,” I slur, leaning back against the brick storefront. “I can’t drive. Way too drunk.”

“No, don’t get behind the wheel,” she says, and I hear the rustling of fabric. I close my eyes, imagining her pulling on clothes to come get me. That shouldn’t turn me on, but it’s probably the alcohol. I’m an ornery drunk. I should tell her to bring Seb so I don’t say or do anything idiotic when she gets here.

Instead I tell her, “Come alone.”

“Of course,” she answers, like that was a given.

It wasn’t though. I expected her to hesitate, and it almost makes me irrationally annoyed that she didn’t. It makes me feel like she pities me. Oh, poor fucking Griff, couldn’t even keep his wife satisfied so she had to surf a sea of other cocks to get off.

Fuck, that hurts.

And it’s insulting.

And I don’t want Moira to think I can’t please a woman.

“I don’t know why Ashley—It wasn’t because of me,” I tell her.

“Of course it wasn’t,” she agrees, vehemently. “Ashley has her own issues. It’s terrible that she betrayed you and hurt you this way. I want to kick her in the face.”

That makes me grin. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” she says, gaining enthusiasm. “Nair in her shampoo, cut the butt cheeks out of her favorite pants. If it’s petty and mean, I want to do it to her.”

My grin widens. “You’re adorable.”